Short-Term
by Maria—Age39—Springfield, MA
Orange vest, white plastic helmet and a trash pick. As a teen, I was a litter picker as part of the summer youth job program. Years before those convicted of non-violent crimes picked and stuffed trash into neon yellow trash bags within sight of a sheriff’s van. We picked and stuffed bottles and cans, folded and sprawled shit-stained or piss-soaked diapers, crumpled fast food wrappers, used tampons, greasy pizza cartons, other’s people’s trash bags tossed and burst open like rotten melons. We couldn’t believe how much crap people tossed. Whenever we approached a carcass of some raccoon or opossum, one of the boys would hop out of the truck and with a shovel rusted red, scooped the stench, drunk flies and all, and stuffed it into a bag. Because I was a girl, I was always assigned a trash picking buddy when working along major highways.
Another summer job. Pushed around a metal cart in a yawning warehouse to look for the right codes on boxes. Picked, packed, sealed and heaved fifty-pound orders of pens, pencils, and boxes of insurance forms to ship.
Undergraduate work-study student. In paper hat and apron, served my peers who giggled and whispered at me because I worked with townies. Cleaned up pyramids of glasses overflowing with milk, orange juice, cereal and sausage ends that were abandoned by students hung over from funneling beer and slamming shots at parties the night before.
Another summer job. Wiped out chunks of yellow roach bait that protruded from black traps with long-stem Q-tips dunked in alcohol. Promoted to packing slippery bottles of shampoo at the same factory my mother worked.
At a Messe in Germany, I was the Mettfrau, the woman standing in a cold, windowed booth with hat, smock and plastic-gloved hands. Fur-clad ladies and businessmen peered in, ogling the tartare I was serving and passing through a tiny rectangular opening. For three days, I smeared steak tartare onto fresh Broetchen that sold for five marks apiece. In order not to waste the tartare, my employer ordered me to mix seltzer water and the not-so-fresh tartare with the new batch.
Relay calls for the deaf and hard-of-hearing. Tried hard not to lose my transparency as my voice and my speed typing transmitted worries, requests, heated arguments, confidential information, verbal abuse and threats, phone sex, video game orders, and doctor’s appointments.
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